Underneath Your Bed
by tuesdaysonthephonetome
Summary: With waiting come expectations, and with expectations come infidelities. And it’s perfect just to hear his voice again. Lit oneshot.


**Summary:** With waiting come expectations, and with expectations come infidelities. And it's perfect just to hear his voice again. Lit oneshot.

**A/N:** Inspired by the lyrics of Ingrid Michaelson's "Corner of Your Heart" (which, by the way, is the title of one of my chapter stories). Please review!

**Disclaimer:** I think we all know whose it all is, and it certainly isn't mine.

* * *

It's all wrong. And it's not what she wanted. The plans have changed and altered and twisted. And she has that feeling deep in her gut that something went horribly, terribly amiss. That she's not supposed to be here. That it wasn't all supposed to end like this.

So she waits. Because she's never been one to go on her gut feeling. Instead, she makes a list. And she keeps is in her head, because if she kept it anywhere else, he'd find it, and she doesn't want him to find it. So she waits.

And waiting only makes it all worse. Because with waiting come expectations, and with expectations come infidelities.

So she waits until she's sure, and he's gone off to find his newest womanly fix. Then she picks up the phone, and her fingers guide themselves to the right buttons of an always-remembered number.

"Hello?"

And it's perfect just to hear his voice again.

"Hi."

His voice is confused. "It's late, why are you calling?" Then concerned. "Are you okay?"

She sniffs the tears away silently, and when she speaks her voice is even. "I just...wanted to talk."

"Okay." No questions. That's who he is.

So they talk. For a long time they talk. About nothing. About everything. For hours. It's one in the morning, and he still isn't home. Her breathing becomes shallower with anger, and somehow he notices, even over the phone.

"What's wrong?" he asks firmly, gently demanding an answer.

"Nothing," she replies, brushing his tone off lightly. "He's just...out tonight."

He makes an almost silent sound that conveys...nothing. And everything. And something.

She exhales and knows he understands.

"How tall is your bed?" she asks suddenly.

"What?" His voice is taken aback.

"Is it just a mattress on the floor, or do you have an under-the-bed?"

He pauses, then humors her. "I have an under-the-bed."

"How big is your under-the bed?" she continues. "I mean, is it very small or could you fit a person there?"

No pause this time. "You could fit a person there."

"Can I come sleep under your bed?"

This brings the conversation to a shuddering, silent halt.

"What?" he asks finally, bewilderment tangled in his words.

"I want to come sleep under your bed."

"Don't you have an on-top-of-the-bed where you live?"

She sighs. "I just want to come - "

"Sleep under my bed."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can't stay here."

Now she hears him sigh. "Rory," he breathes, as though her name will help bring clarity. She imagines him running his spare fingers through his hair. "I don't know - "

"I'll be very quiet, and I'll bring my own toothbrush and everything."

"I have to be at work really early tomorrow, and I'll be there till really late," he explains. He sounds conflicted about the situation. "I won't have any time for you. You'll be alone under my bed all day."

"I'll read," she smiles wistfully. "I don't need long with you. Just one minute. You'll have one minute?"

He's silent. She waits.

"I'll have one minute," he admits, semi-reluctantly.

"I want to sleep under your bed," she pleads. "I can't be here when he comes home smelling like someone else. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be stuck here. I just want to sleep under your bed tonight."

She waits again. His answer is preceded by a deep exhale.

"I'll get all the books out from under the bed."

She lets out all the relief and joy flood out in one sigh. She's going to sleep underneath his bed, and she knows it will be closer to home than she's ever been here. Closer to home than she's ever been. She feels a sense of elation as she hangs up the phone and packs her suitcase, and as she walks out his door one last time, because she knows she going home.

-fin-


End file.
